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his breath hitched in his throat, chest stuttering; for a man who was so well-composed on most occasions, zemo came undone rapidly.
“what’s the matter?” blue eyes narrowed in on him like a sniper scope. bucky’s head cocked to the side and cherry juice slid down his wrist. “thought it was cold back home. this should be nothing for you.”
a slick, sticky line had formed from zemo’s chest and run down to his navel. the popsicle hovering above him dripped at random, landing on hardened pink nipples. “you are a cruel bastard,” zemo bit back, eyes betraying his fondness.